


Take From the Ones Who Love You

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Femslash February, Post-Episode: s01e06 FZZT, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: It’s the middle of the night, and as the sorrow pours out of her, Jemma’s entire focus is set on crying as silently as possible. She doesn’t want to wake anybody up. Really, there’s no need for anyone to worry about her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Femslash February challenge at Aosficnet2 on Tumblr. Title from the song “Ones Who Love You” by Alvvays.  
> Thanks to the Theclaravoyant for beta reading.

It’s the middle of the night, and as the sorrow pours out of her, Jemma’s entire focus is set on crying as silently as possible. She doesn’t want to wake anybody up. Really, there’s no need for anyone to worry about her. She’s fine. She’s alive. It doesn’t matter that she wakes up every other hour with sobs caught in her throat. It’s perfectly normal that as soon as her consciousness drifts away, she feels her body fall and fall and fall and she waits for all her bones to shatter.

She’s unravelling, that much is clear. It’s the kind of wound she doesn’t know how to clean, but that’s easy to cover with a smile and a nod and a flip of her hair.

When the door opens and closes with a flash of light, she presses both hands over her mouth, because it’s not too late to pretend she’s okay, even though her face is wet and her breath comes out in pained gasps. The narrow mattress dips and there’s a flurry of sheets and before she can say that really, there’s no need to check on her at all, Skye’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, face is pressed into the crook of her neck and it’s like being saved all over again. There’s nothing for her to do but cling to Skye with everything she has.

It takes all Jemma’s strength to stifle her whimpers but she’s mortified enough to have been caught crying at all: there’s no way she’ll allow herself to double down now.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice trembling as she tries to retreat, but there’s nowhere for her to go but closer. Her back soon hits the back of her bunk. “I’m sorry–”

“Shut up,” Skye says, barely above a whisper, and tightens her hold on Jemma.

Jemma doesn’t resist. She just lets herself be pulled back in and blanketed in Skye’s warmth. She’s caught between the wall and Skye’s body and there’s nowhere to fall. It’s been years since she’s laid in the dark, pressing into someone’s embrace – months and months of intellectual fulfillment and nagging physical loneliness. She hadn’t even thought about that before she hopped on the bus; it wasn’t a pressing concern at the time. She had never _almost died_ then – never had to imagine her parents grieving for her; never felt the kind of animalistic fear that comes from facing imminent death; never laid in bed reviewing the events of her short existence, big and small, wondering how they could possibly add up to a life fully lived. Never once considered she might already be out of time.

She’s been thinking about that a lot since the day she caught the chitauri virus. She’s thinking about it now, as her mouth trails up Skye’s neck before she can stop herself, before she can even think to rationalize it.

Skye doesn’t _look_ lonely. There’s a persistent rumor about her and Ward, and Jemma often wonders if there’s anything to it – for Fitz’s sake, she usually tells herself. She’s seen the way he looks at Skye, and that’s what best friends do, isn’t it? They look out for each other, keep an eye on the person their friend happens to fancy. She doesn’t want him to have his heart broken; it’s such a breakable heart he has.

It stung, at first, to see him so smitten, for reasons she refused to examine too closely. They’ve never talked about it – it’s not the kind of thing they talked about before, and ever since her little skydiving adventure, they’ve been tiptoeing awkwardly around each other – but she certainly can’t fault him for falling for Skye. She’s so vital and vibrant, it’s like her heart beats harder than the lot of them. _That’s_ what Jemma thinks about when her lips graze the pulse point at Skye’s neck, and she’s thrilled to hear Skye’s breath catch. Jemma’s heart thumps wildly in her chest, and her mouth lingers, not quite kissing the soft skin of Skye’s throat, and this time there’s really no way she could write it off as a casual gesture even if she wanted to.

The thrill is immediately followed by fear – _fears_ , really. It might not be the soundest idea she’s ever had, making out in the dead of night with a friend and colleague, in the midst of what could very well be a full-blown breakdown. And what if she’s gone too far? Crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed? Fifteen minutes ago, she’d never even thought of doing this – not _really_. Not in the way she thought about potential boyfriends which was, usually, the practical way.

Nothing about this seems very practical or even convenient, but her skin burns where it touches Skye’s and her pulse beats frantically at her throat and everything is so very different than she imagined in any wistful reverie she might have had.

Before she can think herself into a full-blown panic, Skye exhales slowly and starts nuzzling her jaw, her cheek, her nose, and then Skye’s mouth is on hers and Jemma’s whimpering again, only this time it’s out of pure, grateful relief.

The next minutes are a blur of deep, desperate kisses, of hands wandering over flushed skin and it’s startling, how _good_ it feels at a time when nothing ever does, and how quickly the rest of the world reclines until she can’t see or hear or feel anything but Skye.

But then Skye is gently edging away and saying the last thing Jemma had been expecting to hear. “Maybe you should get some rest, Simmons.”

“I– but– what?” Jemma stammers, as a chilling wave of disappointment washes over her and she feels everything again all at once. She retreats farther against the back of the bunk, wishing she could recline into it entirely.

“Hey.” Skye finds her hand and presses it in both of hers. “Hey, don’t do that. Let’s just talk for a moment, alright?” When Jemma doesn’t answer, she starts tracing soft lines along her palm, her wrist, the inside of her arm. “How long has it been since you’ve had a decent night of sleep, anyway?”

“Not long.” It’s a lie, they both know it, but she’s so used to pretending at that point, it comes up automatically.

“I hear you, you know? Not just tonight. All the other nights, too. That’s why I came. I just wasn’t expecting… this.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out more bitterly than Jemma intends, and she can almost hear Skye’s eyes roll back inside her head.

“Don’t be daft. You know perfectly well what I meant.” Her hands goes up to cup Jemma’s cheek, and Jemma can’t help but lean into it like a puppy starved for affection. “You put up a good front, I’ll give you that, but… maybe you don’t have to.”

“Look who’s talking,” Jemma snorts, and grabs Skye’s wrist because she’s so afraid she’ll take her hand away – take it all back. “I don’t know what else to do,” she admits, and she’s mortified to choke on the words. She squeezes her eyes shut, concentrates on breathing in and out for several minutes until the tightness in her throat eases again, while Skye’s thumb pets the soft skin between her ear and her neck.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, is all I’m saying,” Skye says, after what feels like forever, and presses a kiss the corner of her mouth.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?” Jemma offers, raising an eyebrow, and it’s a pathetic attempt at a joke but it’s also not. She may be good at bottling up her feelings, but she would wager Skye’s got a wine cellar’s worth of issues buried under layers and layers of deflection and quips, and she thinks maybe, she would like to learn everything there is to know about Skye Johnson – the good, the bad, and all there is in between. Perhaps even all that hasn’t happened yet. Everything she’s going to be.

Skye groans loudly in response. “You’re _terrible_. You should be ashamed of yourself, Simmons. Are you sure you’re an actual genius, or have you been bullshitting everyone this entire time?”

Jemma nestles her head in the crook of Skye’s neck as she shakes with laughter. And later, just moments before sleep finally creeps up on her, she catches herself thinking that whatever it is that makes Skye so lively, when they’re laying as close as they are now, feels like it might be rubbing off on her a little, too.


End file.
